


The (Not So) Miserable People

by JuniperIris



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Actors, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Theatre, And a quick spark, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Friendships, F/M, Fluff, Les Misérables References, Love at First Sight, M/M, Pining, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, like so many les mis references, no beta we die like daichi, other characters not mentioned in tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26706085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuniperIris/pseuds/JuniperIris
Summary: The Flying Crow Theater has decided to tackle Les Misérables!
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Kozume Kenma & Tsukishima Kei, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Michimiya Yui/Sawamura Daichi, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 34
Kudos: 72





	1. Red, A World About to Dawn

_ "At the end of the play it's another play over." _

_ "And that's all you can say for the life of the Crows." _

_ "There's Suga, staring at the floor." _

_ "And Ennoshita isn't going to be forgiving." _

_ "Why are the techs standing around? Please fix the door." _

"And that's all we've got." Tsukishima pushed his glasses up further on his face, causing the lenses to glare in the low light of the soundbooth. While neither he or Kenma had any sense of musical talent, they had created a game of rewriting lyrics to help pass the time during long practices. The two of them were among the full time employees at The Flying Crow theater, Tsukishima working as the head costume designer, and Kenma the tech director. 

"How many times have you had to listen to them sing this?" Akaashi looks up from the thick binder resting on his lap. His lips are slightly upturned, giving only the tiniest hint of amusement. 

"Too many." Kenma’s eyes are trained on the stage below them, where the cast was once again struggling to figure out the blocking for  _ At the End of the Day _ . Kenma knew very little about acting--he would rather chew sand than go onstage--but he had watched enough shows to be able to pick up on when a cast was struggling. Even with the large ensemble that  _ Les Mis _ demanded, it was difficult to hide within the crowd. The minimal set design didn't help matters. While Kenma enjoyed the opportunity to draw more on his lighting expertise to create settings, there wasn't much to look at other than the actors. 

The set itself was nearly finished thanks to Ryu and Noya. They had built a large, multi-level platform that spread across the back of the stage, with a trapdoor on the highest area. It was painted pewter, with solid black lines to give it the appearance of being made of stone. The edges were lined with simple railing, serving as a guide for the actors. There was a solid-black half circle painted in the middle, and with a simple change of backdrop and lighting, the platform could appear to be an opening to the sewers or a bridge. It was the most budget-friendly solution the theater staff could conjure. Given that the theater was located in a small town and survived on donations and ticket sales, that was an absolute necessity. 

There were other set pieces to consider, of course, the barricade being the most important of all. Then there was Thenardier's inn, and the wedding scene…

This was exactly why Kenma had protested at doing such an iconic show, despite knowing how quickly tickets would sell out. And all eight shows had already started quickly filling up, even though the show was still three months away. 

Yeah, he was definitely going to demand an assistant after this one. Tsukishima managed to get one, Kenma should too. Preferably someone who could manage running the sound board. 

"Why am I not surprised that Oikawa-san's playing Valjean?" Akaashi started flipping through his binder, which held headshots, character sheets, and the names of each actor in the production. Akaashi normally didn't get involved until much later in the show process, but Tsukishima insisted that they collaborate early on for  _ Les Mis _ . He was often brought on to do hair and makeup for larger shows. He, like many of the actors, lived in the next city over. 

"Ennoshita's got his favorites." Kenma shrugged. That was often the downfall of local theater; favoritism often decided roles as opposed to talent. He technically worked for Ennoshita, the executive director of the theater, but that didn't keep him from noticing his shortcomings. 

"Speaking of," Tsukishima nodded towards the stage, where Oikawa was making his first appearance as  _ Monsieur le maire.  _ Say what one will about his aggravating personality, Oikawa had an outstanding stage presence. "Has anyone questioned why a mayor would be breaking up a fight in a factory?"

"You two have definitely sat through this too many times already." Akaashi rubbed his forehead. "So we have what, three minutes to turn Oikawa from a prisoner to a mayor?"

"Give or take. Oh, and Ennoshita wants us to figure out a way to do Fantine's haircut on stage." Tsukishima said with a grim expression. 

"Lovely." Akaashi deadpanned. 

"It's for the  _ effect _ ." Tsukishima hit the pause button on the computer linked to the soundboard in response to Ennoshita waving at them from down below. 

"House lights please!" Ennoshita called from his front row seat. Kenma gave a quick thumbs up and flicked the lights on, illuminating the 400-seat auditorium. The Flying Crow boasted a typical platform style stage. The walls were all black, with navy blue seating. The seating risers were on the older side, and creaked underneath the weight of anyone who walked over them. "I have a few notes--"

"--of course you do." Tsukishima mumbled. 

"Mai-san, I need you to actually slap Alisa-san there. I need the front row to hear it." Ennoshita stood up as he spoke. Kenma noted how Mai seemed to visibly cringe at the instruction. He couldn't blame her, Alisa was probably one of the kindest people in the cast. "If you can't do it, I'll find someone who can. Alisa-san, if you don't stop smiling when you're fighting with her I'll have her smack you again."

"I'm sorry! I smile when I'm nervous." Alisa covered her face in embarrassment. Kenma almost feels sorry for her. Casting her as Fantine had been an interesting choice on Ennoshita's part. Kenma thought she would've been picked for Cosette, but that part had gone to Michimiya Yui. 

"It's going to be hard to make her look desolate." Akaashi mused while Ennoshita moved on to addressing the other players. 

"Oya? Think she's pretty Akaashi-kun?" Tsukishima wiggled his eyebrows. 

"In the gayest way possible." Akaashi clicked his tongue. 

Kenma had to stifle a giggle. This wasn't the first time he had heard this conversation between Akaashi and Tsukishima. Kenma was positive that they'd slept together at least once, judging by the sounds he'd heard from Tsukishima's side of the duplex they rented. His friends had an awkward way of flirting with each other, to say the least. 

The sounds of the ensemble scrambling to leave the stage snapped Kenma back to attention. "Did he say how much time?"

"Probably the usual 10." Tsukishima stood up and stretched his long arms, nearly knocking Kenma in the head. "I'm going to try to catch a few of the newbies for measurements."

"Try not to scare them, yeah?" Kenma pulled out his phone and opened one of his many mobile games he had installed. His attention immediately gets sucked into the tiny pixel figures. 

"Shit, I've got to get Kuroo too." Tsukishima mumbled to himself. He grabbed his notebook from where it sat next to the soundboard and left the booth with an exasperated sigh. 

Kenma tried not to flinch at the sound of Kuroo's name. He knew good and well as to why he hadn't been haunting the soundbooth lately, even though Kenma secretly wished he'd make an appearance. Kenma had been halfway hopeful for some sort of reconciliation between the two of them when he saw Kuroo had auditioned for this show, only to discover that he had brought along another man named Bokuto with him. They both had been cast, and from what Kenma could tell from his perch above the stage, the two of them were close. In fact, they would disappear backstage together anytime Ennoshita called for a break. Used to, Kuroo would immediately bound up to join Kenma with a wide grin on his face. 

It hurt, seeing that smile directed toward someone else. Kenma didn’t know if they were actually together or not, and he didn't care to find out. All that mattered was that Kuroo had apparently moved on. 

And Kenma hadn't. 

Despite the fact that Kenma had been the one to call things off. 

Kenma ducked his head down, letting the bleached tips of his hair fall over his shoulders.  _ Don't think about it, don't think about it… _

"Oi, Kenma-san. Show me how to run this thing." Akaashi moved to sit in the metal chair Tsukishima had previously occupied. Kenma could see him taking in all the knobs and buttons out of the corner of his eye. Kenma had taken the time to label most of them, just in case. 

"Hm? Just play the track from the computer there." Kenma pointed to the massively outdated desktop that had been crammed into the corner of the booth. He had been dying to get an upgrade, but it did its job for the time being. Kenma would load music from his home computer to CDs and flash drives (yes, one of each, you never know), and play tracks from there during practice. Once they moved into tech rehearsals, Kenma would splice together all the tracks and include any transitional music that was needed. It was the easiest solution he could think of without having a dedicated person to run sound while he handled lights. That way, whenever the poor soul who wound up having to work with him on any given night could just follow the script and his notes to know when to adjust the microphone. "We aren't using mics yet, so you can just ignore the rest of it."

"I'll take over for Tsukishima-san for a while." Akaashi clicked through the track list, barely visible on the old monitor's screen. 

Kenma knows what Akaashi is doing, or trying to do. His breakup with Kuroo hadn't been a secret by any means, even though Kenma refused to discuss it in detail. It had put a strain on all of their relationships--while Tsukishima never said so explicitly, Kenma knew he had struggled with who to support in the situation. Akaashi had been easier, given he and Kenma were the closer of the two. 

Kenma respected Tsukishima more than he did most people, but the man could vent at the worst times, and Kenma wasn't ready to hear about any conversations he might have with Kuroo. 

Kenma hummed in affirmation, his attention going back to his game. The two of them fell into a comfortable silence that could only be shared between people who genuinely understood each other. Kenma knew Akaashi was showing support in his own quiet way, and Akaashi knew Kenma was grateful in his own quiet way. 

///

Tsukishima was certain that if he didn't wear glasses, he'd still have permanent indentations on the bridge of his nose given how many times he found himself pinching it in irritation. Fortunately he'd learned to do it with his back turned, or whenever the source of his irritability had left the room. Between a large cast and a new assistant, he found himself angry quite often these days. 

"Alright, thanks. Send Kuroo-san in next if you don't mind." Tsukishima regarded the young actress he had just measured with what he hoped was a semi-pleasant expression. So much of him wished he could maintain a straight face as well as Akaashi could. 

The actress fidgeted uncomfortably, causing the floorboard of the costume trailer to creak beneath her weight. "Um, which one's that?"

"I'd say the asshole with the shitty haircut, but that wouldn't narrow it down enough." Tsukishima quipped, earning him a nervous laugh from both the actress and his assistant. "Tall guy. Crazy black hair."

"He plays Enjolras." Asahi said quietly. 

"That guy! I'll go get him." She laughed nervously and turned on her heel to leave the trailer, letting the door slam behind her. 

"Um, Tsukishima-san?" Asahi was anxiety personified, Tsukishima had learned. For someone his size he was incredibly sheepish and docile, but the man knew his stuff when it came to design. Tsukishima had been more than happy to clear off his spare table to provide him with a workspace when he'd been hired. Asahi seemed glued to his table, barely making eye contact with the actors who came in for measurements, and only spoke to clarify he was writing down the right numbers. "Do they always do that?"

"Some more than others." Tsukishima needed no explanation for what Asahi was referring to. Something about the costume trailer drove people into sharing their life stories. He often wondered what secrets the carefully labeled bin-lined walls could share if they were able. "You're going to have to talk to them eventually, you know."

"I-I know." Asahi scratched the back of his head, disrupting the low bun at his nape. 

"Start with Kuroo." Tsukishima smirked. He leaned against the edge of his own work table and crossed his ankles. He  _ knew  _ that Asahi was the type of person that Kuroo would swallow alive if given the chance, in more ways than one. There was no doubt that his assistant was attractive, and he dressed exceptionally well on top of it. Today he wore olive green pants that were cuffed at the ankles, leaving the smallest sliver of skin exposed above a pair of coffee-colored Oxfords. His heather-grey button down was obviously tailored to fit him, a detail Tsukishima probably appreciated more than he should. The sleeves were rolled up, showing his toned forearms. 

Tsukishima really had to stop checking out his assistant. 

"Kuroo's involved in nearly every show we do." Tsukishima continued. "But I still like to get everyone's measurements at least once per year."

Asahi nodded and scribbled down something in a small pocket notebook. "Thanks, Tsukishima-san."

"Are you good with kids, Azumane-san?" Tsukishima asked, a random thought having crossed his mind. 

"Asahi, please. I, uh, haven't really interacted with them much. Kids usually think I'm scary." Asahi looked flustered by his question, much to Tsukishima's amusement. 

"The devil twins are playing our Young Cosette and Gavroche. I think I might let you measure them for me." Tsukishima's eyes glinted mischievously. 

"The devil twins?" Asahi's face dropped. He flipped through his binder until he landed a particular page. He paused for a moment and flipped to the next one, then looked at Tsukishima in utter confusion. 

"My niece and nephew." Tsukishima smirked. The Tsukishima's had always been involved in local theater. Akiteru, like his brother, had no musical talent but excelled at acting. It just so happened that he fell in love with Tanaka Saeko, another theater geek who happened to be playing Madame Thénardier. "I'm sure you've met Ryu and Saeko, right? Saeko's my sister-in-law. The kids take after their side of the family."

Asahi's face paled. 

"So they shouldn't be afraid of you." Tsukishima had to cover his face to stop himself from laughing at Asahi's expression. 

_ This managing thing is going to be entertaining.  _

"Did you call for me, Megane-kun?" Kuroo opened the trailer door with a flourish, letting in the sharp smell of cigarette smoke flood in behind him. The trailer sat next to the backdoor of the theater, and the small space between the two structures was lovingly known as Smoker's Alley. Tsukishima wasn't surprised to discover that a significant portion of the cast were smokers, even in a musical. 

"Still not leading man material, eh, Kuroo?" Tsukishima knew good and well that Kuroo was often type-cast into antagonistic or supporting roles. 

"I auditioned for Javert, but you know." Kuroo shrugged. "Can't exactly get my family's bank to sponsor an entire damn show. Oh wait, my family doesn't have a bank."

"Shit, I started on Ujishima's wardrobe before auditions were even over." Tsukishima scoffed. 

"I can't complain too much. Besides, he's got the range for it." Kuroo's eyes went from Tsukishima to Asahi. A wide grin appeared on his face when he noticed the shy man. "Oho, we haven't met."

"Um, I'm Azumane Asahi. Assistant costume designer." Asahi gave a low bow. Tsukishima rolled his eyes at the gesture, already knowing how Kuroo would react. "Pleasure to meet you."

Kuroo's eyes danced beneath his long bangs. "Well aren't you formal?" He approached Asahi with an outstretched hand, all but sauntering through the small space. "Kuroo Tetsurou. Pleasure's mine."

Tsukishima watched with a bemused expression as Asahi shook Kuroo's hand, the former trying to mask his obvious wince as Kuroo obviously went overboard with his grip. 

"Break his hand and I'll sever your vocal chords, Kuroo." Tsukishima picked up a nearby pair of scissors and snipped them a few times. 

"It's fine, Tsukishima-san." Asahi said through a pained smile. He picked up his pencil and flipped back to Kuroo's page in his binder. "Can I ask you a few questions?"

"Enjolras. 188 centimeters, right handed. No allergies, but I'd prefer to avoid latex if at all possible." Kuroo's voice faltered for a split second with his last statement, just long enough for Tsukishima to notice it. "Anything I missed?"

Kenma's the one with the latex allergy. Tsukishima had to bite his tongue to keep from commenting. How long had it been now? Four months?

"You've done this before." Asahi scrambled to write down the information Kuroo had fed him. "Does your height include your hair?"

Tsukishima nearly lost all composure at Asahi's obviously innocent question. Kuroo's reaction, however, was what caused him to double over in peals of raspy laughter. Kuroo looked downright offended, and was left sputtering while he tried to find a reply. 

"I measure from the top of my scalp, thank you!" Kuroo finally managed to say. 

"Sorry! I genuinely wasn't sure." Asahi practically  _ whimpered _ . He looked as if he was trying to disappear into the floor. 

"Since when are you so sensitive, Kuroo?" Tsukishima adjusted his glasses in an effort to get a handle on himself. "It was a legitimate concern. If your inseam was more suited someone for 180 centimeters--"

"My inseam is just fine." Kuroo's face flushed. "You should know that."

Tsukishima readied his measuring tape. "People change," he shrugged. He gestured for Kuroo to stand in front of him. When he did, Tsukishima went through the motions of fitting Kuroo, starting from head circumference and moving down. He read the numbers off to Asahi, who dutifully copied them to Kuroo's page. Kuroo had been through this countless times, and knew when to reposition his arm for sleeve measurements and when to lift them for bust, waist, and hip sizing. 

"Is 87 centimeters normal?" Kuroo asked when Tsukishima read off that particular number. Tsukishima took his time in getting up from his crouched position, leaving Asahi to respond. 

"There really isn't a standard, depends on how long your legs are." Asahi explained. "I'm about two centimeters shorter than you, and I think I measure a little below that."

"He's nicer than you are Tsukishima." Kuroo flashed a smile at Asahi. 

"Do you not buy pants, Kuroo?" Tsukishima stopped himself from starting on a rant about clothing sizes and why getting correct fitting was important, but he knew the speech would be lost on someone like Kuroo. "Never mind. You're done."

Kuroo stayed rooted to his spot. Tsukishima expected him to start in on one of his famous stories or some sort of teasing comment, but instead:

"How's Kenma?"

Tsukishima sucked in a breath, keeping his face even. "He's fine."

"Good, good." Kuroo nodded. "Is he eating normally? He forgets and--"

"Ask him. I'm not getting in the middle of this." Tsukishima hardened his gaze. He spared a glance at Asahi, who was making himself invisible next to one of the clothing racks. "You've had what, ten rehearsals now to approach him?"

"A certain giant seems to constantly be in the sound booth or I would." Kuroo squared his shoulders. 

Tsukishima bristled at that. He had unintentionally been protecting Kenma from Kuroo. He had seen the fallout of their relationship firsthand, thanks to living in the same structure as Kenma. But he wasn't about to tell Kuroo about the solid two weeks where Kenma refused to answer his door and called in sick from work. He wouldn't tell him about how small he'd looked when he finally emerged, or how he'd somehow gotten even quieter than he was before. It had taken weeks for Kenma to start cracking jokes with Tsukishima again. 

"He's not the one waving a new toy in your face, is he? What's his name, Bokuto?" Tsukishima's voice was laced with venom. 

"Bokkun's not… He's a friend." Kuroo's eyes widened. "Can you at least tell him that?"

"No." 

"Tsukishima--"

"I said no." Tsukishima crossed his arms. 

"Alright." Kuroo's eyes fell to the floor. He shifted his weight. "He likes the apple pie you can get from Shimada's. And green tea."

Tsukishima chewed on the inside of his lip. "I'll keep that in mind."

Kuroo had more to say, but swallowed it down. He looked up once more, this time to face Asahi. "Who do I need to get next?"

"Yamaguchi Tadashi, please." Asahi said quickly. Despite the situation, Tsukishima felt a mild excitement well up inside of him at the thought of getting to talk to the green-haired man. 

"Alright." Kuroo turned on his heel. He left the trailer with a half-hearted wave, gently closing the door behind him. 

"Tadashi will be much easier than Kuroo." Tsukishima said after a beat. He twisted his measuring tape around his fingers. "Asahi-san?"

"Yeah?" Asahi seemed extremely uncomfortable with what had just happened. Kenma was his coworker after all, and he had just started with the theater. 

Tsukishima considered his words carefully. "Rule number two of the costume trailer: what's said in here doesn't leave that door."

"Understood."

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the chapter titles are going to be song lyrics--some more obvious than others. :)
> 
> Comments and feedback are always welcome here! I love hearing from you all. I'd love it if you let me know what you guys think of this one.


	2. Does He Know I'm Alive? Do I Know if He's Real?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two months, three weeks until opening night!
> 
> Songs referenced:  
> Lovely Ladies   
> Fantine's Arrest

Yamaguchi always showed up thirty minutes early to rehearsals. Not a minute earlier, not a minute later. He was so consistent that Tsukishima wondered if he sat in the parking lot until 29 after and took his time with walking in. Not that Tsukishima had considered sitting in his own car until that time just to observe him. No. That thought had never crossed his mind. 

But Yamaguchi was certainly the reason why Tsukishima tended to haunt the backstage and dressing room areas before rehearsal. 

Yamaguchi was fairly new at The Flying Crow, having done only one production prior to  _ Les Mis _ . Tsukishima barely paid him any attention until the freckled man came to his costume trailer for a fitting. Yamaguchi had been shy and stuttering when they first met, something Tsukishima had always found entertaining. But the way Yamaguchi had flushed whenever Tsukishima's fingers lingered on his hip had stirred something within the costume designer. 

That  _ something  _ had only grown stronger when Tsukishima dropped to his knees to measure his inseam and outseams. Typically Tsukishima would avoid eye contact while in that position and focus solely on the task at hand, but he couldn't resist the pull of Yamaguchi's soft eyes staring down at him. 

Since then, Tsukishima made it a point to seek out the man's attention, even if he couldn't quite tell if Yamaguchi felt the same way towards him. 

(That was a blatant lie he told himself anyway. He knew full and well that there was a mutual attraction between them.)

Too bad he had a strict personal policy against sleeping with the actors. That rule had only been solidified thanks to the fallout between Kuroo and Kenma. While Kenma could avoid the actors 90% of the time, Tsukishima didn't really have that option in his position. 

Although he wondered just how long he could maintain that rule with Yamaguchi around. Of course, he could just stop deliberately making excuses to talk to him, but where was the fun in that?

Tsukishima had spent the last week working with Asahi to complete the costumes for the ABC Society, with the exception of Gavroche. Tsukishima had a system when it came to working on larger shows--he would focus on one specific ensemble group at a time, check the fit, then move to the next group while making adjustments to the first. From there he would work on one off costumes, like Cosette's wedding dress. He found that working on one group at a time helped him visualize how they would work as a whole. 

There were three costumes that Tsukishima had looked forward to making the most when it came to  _ Les Mis _ : Cosette's wedding gown, Thénardier's, and Prouvaire's. Of course, the reasoning behind Prouvaire was much, much more personal than the other two. 

Tsukishima made his way into the backstage area of the theater exactly forty minutes before rehearsal was supposed to start, carrying a large pile of clothes in his arms. He knew Kenma had to be wandering around out front somewhere, and Ennoshita was still in the main office, leaving him alone backstage. He came in through the back door between Smoker's Alley and his trailer, bringing him what could actually be considered more of the actor waiting area. It was a fairly large room, with two folding tables used for props, a water fountain, and a few chairs scattered around. Pictures from past shows hung on the walls, and there was a TV mounted in one of the upper corners that displayed a live feed of the stage. There was a set of wooden stairs next to the outside door that led to a small attic that Akaashi typically used for a makeup area. Two other doors opposite of the stairs led to the men's and women's dressing rooms, another for the bathroom. The final door on the far side of the room led to the stage area. 

He swung open the door to the men's dressing room and flipped the lights on with his elbow. Much to his annoyance, the cast had already started leaving behind random shit along the dark countertop that ran across the entirety of the wall adjacent to the door. There were scripts, highlighters, a pair of socks (for some reason), and empty water bottles scattered around. He knew it would only get worse as rehearsals went on. Fortunately the wall-length mirrors that ran behind the countertop and the far wall had been spared thus far. It wouldn't surprise him if he came in one day to find them covered in handprints, especially with his nephew in the cast. 

He turned his attention to the wire racks that started beside the door and ran the entire length of the room. He had already labeled areas for each of the male cast members. Each person had their own section, accompanied by a bin to hold any small accessories, like belts or broaches. He attempted to do the same for shoes once, but gave up given the size of the cast. Instead he left them carefully lined up beneath each section, knowing they would be left in a chaotic mess eventually. There were already items hanging up--Javert's coat, a few pairs of pants he'd had ready, and Marius's shirt. Tsukishima busied himself with hanging up costumes, taking his time to fill the minutes until he heard the invevitable sound of the backdoor opening. 

And it did, exactly on time, judging by the analog clock on the wall. Tsukishima paused his actions, listening to the sound of soft footsteps approaching. It didn't take long for Yamaguchi to appear at the doorframe. He didn't look surprised at seeing Tsukishima already inside, in fact, he almost looked pleased. 

"Hi Tsukki." Yamaguchi was the one and only person who could get away with that nickname.

"Shut the door." Tsukishima said, giving the man a small nod as a greeting. 

"Um, okay." Yamaguchi startled. He closed the door behind him with a small  _ click _ . He gave Tsukishima a confused look until he saw the costumes hanging. Tsukishima couldn't stop himself from half-smiling at his sudden excitement. "Oh.  _ Oh _ . Can I touch them?"

Tsukishima bit back a laugh. It entertained him to see someone like Yamaguchi, who showed up to rehearsals in athletic shorts and baggy hoodies more often than not, get so excited for clothes. "You know rule number one, right?"

"Don't touch it if it isn't yours." Yamaguchi toyed with a strand of his long hair. 

"So you're limited to touching this one." Tsukishima held out his arm, where Yamaguchi's outfit was still folded over. 

"Can I try it on?" Yamaguchi carefully took the clothes by their hangers, holding them at arm's length away from his body.

"I'd be offended if you didn't." Tsukishima smirked. "Want me to step out?"

Yamaguchi's face flushed. "N-no, it's fine, Tsukki, just, uh--" he made a spinning motion with his free hand. 

"Shoes are underneath your section there." Tsukishima complied with a small wink, turning so he was facing away from him. He busied himself with carefully spacing out the hangers on the rack while Yamaguchi changed, finding he was more anxious than he originally anticipated. He hummed softly, trying to not ponder on the sounds of Yamaguchi tugging off his hoodie. Tsukishima knew good and well he had a body hiding under there somewhere, no matter how hard he tried hiding it in oversized garments. 

"Shirt tucked in?" Yamaguchi's question made him cringe inwardly. 

"You're a rich student, you tell me." Tsukishima's mouth pulled into a thin line. 

"Tucked in then." Yamaguchi gave a light-hearted chuckle. He shuffled around for a moment before letting out a sharp breath. "Tsukki."

"Hm?" Tsukishima risked turning around to find Yamaguchi staring at himself in the mirror with a dazed expression. 

Not that Tsukishima could blame him. He'd done  _ quite _ well. Tsukishima ran his eyes over him, taking in all the details of what he'd created. The light-gray trousers were fitted to Yamaguchi's slim legs, and sat high on his hips to emphasize their length. The hem of his deep green waistcoat sat right above them. Tsukishima had added gold buttons and detail to the waistcoat itself, knowing that the color combination would complement Yamaguchi's hair and tanned skintone. The loose sleeves of his ivory button-up reached the middle of his forearms. 

Tsukishima was determined to find a reason to get Yamaguchi in actual formal wear. 

Tsukishima also realized that by thinking that, he was doomed to break his own rules. 

"You like it." It wasn't a question. Tsukishima could just tell. He let his eyes linger on Yamaguchi for a moment longer before he reached into his bin. "Do you know how to tie a cravat?"

"I can barely tie my own ties." Yamaguchi's face turned a positively lovely shade of red. 

_ Cravat is basically a fancy way of saying tie _ , is what Tsukishima wanted to say. At the risk of sounding too much like a know-it-all, he simply held up a burgundy, traditionally styled cravat made of cotton. He showed Yamaguchi where he'd added a snap button to the section that would go behind his neck. "I had a feeling. Flip your collar up."

"You could always show me." Yamaguchi said shyly as he turned his collar upwards. 

"This is more fun." Tsukishima moved to stand behind Yamaguchi. He reached around him with both arms, placing the tie at his neck and fastening the snap, all while watching himself in the mirror. His nimble fingers fixed Yamaguchi's collar and smoothed the tie so that it tucked into his waistcoat. He ducked his head just enough so that his lips barely brushed over the other man's ear. "Isn't it?"

Yamaguchi's eyes widened, but he made no attempt to move away. He gazed at Tsukishima through the mirror, chewing on his bottom lip. "You'll tease me for saying yes."

"I don't tease." Tsukishima stepped away from Yamaguchi and moved to sit on the counter in front of him. He could sense the nerves pouring out of him. "You make a really attractive Prouvaire."

Yamaguchi covered his cheeks with his palms, scrunching up the freckled skin. "You can't just say that!"

"Eh? Why not?" Tsukishima cocked his head. 

"Because y-you just sound cool when you do." Yamaguchi stammered. He lowered his eyes to the floor. "You're really cool, Tsukki."

"Thanks." Tsukishima hesitantly reached out to ruffle Yamaguchi's hair. He was happy to find out that, yes, it was just as soft as it looked. "In all seriousness, does everything fit alright? Nothing too tight?"

"It's perfect." Yamaguchi looked back up at Tsukishima bashfully. "Even if it does just make me nervous."

Tsukishima rested his palms on his knees. "Why does it make you nervous?"

"Because it feels more real now. I was just an extra in the last show, and now I have some solo lines." Yamaguchi scratched the back of his head. "What if I completely screw it up?"

"You probably will." Tsukishima deadpanned. "Everyone does. I once watched Oikawa skip eight pages in a script, and don't get me started on how many entrances Kuroo has missed. That kind of thing happens in live theater."

Yamaguchi stifled a laugh. "I guess that's supposed to make me feel better, huh?"

"Did it work?" Tsukishima's lips curved into a smile. It was impossible to not be nice to this man, he decided.

"It might’ve." Yamaguchi said. 

"There's one last thing." Tsukishima crooked his finger, beckoning him forward. Yamaguchi hesitantly closed the space between them, standing so close that their legs were touching. Tsukishima looked up at him and reached out to slip his fingers between the buttons of his waistcoat. He slid them down until he reached the last button and flipped it open with a practiced motion. 

"Tsukki?" Yamaguchi's hand went to Tsukishima's knee. 

Tsukishima removed his hand, leaving the button undone. 

"Never close your bottom button when you wear vests, Yamaguchi."

///

_ Lovely Ladies _ had apparently become Bokuto's favorite song in the entire show, something that Kuroo mentally vowed to never let him live down. What Kuroo refused to tell him, however, was that he had asked Ennoshita if he could play the Pimp, since his main role didn't come in until nearly the end of Act One. Ennoshita had given him the role of Bamatabois instead. Tanaka, the surprisingly good character actor, played the Pimp, with Noya, Yamamoto, and Narita playing the Sailors. The four of them later returned to play Thénardier's gang members. 

Kuroo knew that Bokuto would have a knack for theater, given his singing voice and personality, but he hadn't quite realized how much he would enjoy himself. He had taken on his role of Grantaire with a bit of difficulty--Bo had a natural silliness about him that presented itself whenever he started giving it his all. Kuroo much preferred the silliness over Bokuto's depressed state whenever he made too many mistakes. 

The two of them stood in the wings backstage, hidden by the several heavy black curtains that hung from the ceiling. Kuroo held the curtains open just enough to get a sideways view of the stage, where the actresses playing the prostitutes were setting up for their song. Ushijima hovered in a nearby corner with Tendo. Tendo still had several songs to go before he made his appearance as Thénardier, but everywhere Ushijima went, Tendo was always nearby. 

Kind of like how Bokuto had attached himself to Kuroo whenever they were in the theater. 

"We're going straight into  _ Fantine's Arrest  _ after this, alright?" Ennoshita called from the audience. "Oikawa, you ready back there?"

"It's like he knows we're back here, Ushijima." Kuroo whispered in mock astonishment. 

"You're holding the curtain open." Came the stoic man's reply. 

"That I am." Kuroo released the curtain, letting it flutter back into place. Try as he might, he'll never understand Ushijima. He turned to open the backstage door, where he found the Grand King himself sitting with his legs crossed on one of the prop tables. "Oikaa-kun, we're going into the arrest after this song."

"Are you going to trip over your tongue again, Kuroo-chan?" Oikawa stood up and stretched his arms over his head, giving Kuroo a playful grin. 

"I'll manage to get it once you stop singing Javert's part in  _ The Confrontation _ instead of your own." Kuroo stuck his tongue out. He knew he had no way of competing with the likes of Oikawa, not when it came to acting anyway, so he couldn't resist exploiting any weaknesses he saw. All in good fun, of course. 

Oikawa furrowed his brow. "I'd like to see you take on this role."

"Hell no. Trying to force compassion isn't my strong suit." Kuroo lifted his chin up. "Unlike someone else I know."

"You wound me, Kuroo-chan." Oikawa touched his chest in mock pain. 

The conversation was cut short by the deceptively upbeat opening notes of  _ Lovely Ladies.  _ Kuroo jerked his head to the side, a signal for Oikawa to follow behind him as he stepped back into the wings. He was met with the sight of Bokuto shaking his hips in time with the music. His eyes were shining with excitement in the near-darkness, his movements turning into makeshift choreography as the lyrics progressed. Kuroo had to slap a hand over his mouth to stop himself from bursting into laughter when Bokuto somehow managed to act out  _ "standing up or lying down or anyway at all/bargain prices up against the wall! _ ". 

His efforts were almost in vain when Oikawa started miming the part of the Old Lady, directing his attention toward Ushijima. Ushijima wasn't having any of it, unsurprisingly. He simply stared down at Oikawa with narrowed eyes, his posture stiff with annoyance. His expression barely shifted when Tendo joined in, having decided to portray an over-dramatic version of Fantine. He nearly smacked Ushijima in the face when he feigned begging to Oikawa. He went so far as to run his hands frantically through his wild red hair, as though he were suddenly faced with the prospect of losing it all. 

Naturally Kuroo  _ had _ to play along. He grabbed Bokuto's wrists, and the two of them lip-synced the prostitutes' and pimp's lines to each other. Bokuto made a show of running his hands over his thighs suggestively. Their antics lasted until Fantine began her final lines of the song. That was when Kuroo pulled away and shook his limbs out, mentally steeling himself to step onstage. 

_ You're a sadistic chauvinist. Don't look at the sound booth. You're not Kuroo Tetsurou. Don't look at the sound booth. You think you can buy anything. Don't look at the sound booth… _

Kuroo threw his shoulders back as he made his entrance, slipping into his brief role of Bamatabois. He was convinced that Ennoshita was fucking with him by throwing him into this part. Ennoshita  _ knew _ that Kuroo got tongue-tied easily when it came to faster lyrics. Still, Kuroo managed to keep it together through " _ It's not for the whore to say yes sir or no sir/it's not for the harlot to pick and to choose/or to lead me a dance! _ "

Kuroo always had to resist the urge to start marching in place when the music shifted to the quick rhythm that signaled Javert's entrance. Ushijima, despite his lack of expression off stage, transformed the moment he appeared from behind the curtain. He didn't have to do much to take on an intimidating posture, to say the least, but his entire being seemed to change when he performed. Kuroo had a theory that Ushijima reserved all of his feelings until he took on a different persona. 

And while Kuroo still wasn't convinced that Alisa was truly meant for the role of Fantine, she was steadily improving in her delivery. She had the belting vocals the character required; she was almost  _ too sweet _ to pull it off. 

Kuroo could hear faint snickering coming from the wings, letting him know that Bokuto and Tendo hadn't paused their antics. If Ushijima noticed, he didn't let on. If anything he only sang louder to cover up whatever might be going on behind him. It was all for naught, however, because the second Oikawa stepped out:

" _ A moment of your time, Javert, I do believe this woman's tale. _ "

Ushijima followed up with " _ Monsiuer le Maire! _ ", only to be joined by both Bokuto and Tendo, who popped their heads out from behind the curtain behind Oikawa. The suddenness of it all caused Oikawa to jump and let out a high-pitched squeak, completely bringing the rest of the cast out of the scene. 

Kuroo couldn't stop the hyena laugh that spilled from his chest. Everything from the stupid melodramatic looks on Tendo and Bokuto's faces, to Oikawa's frantic reaction, and Ushijima's expression of utter confusion was too much for him to handle. Alisa had to duck behind him to hide her own laughter. 

"OI." Ennoshita yelled over the commotion. He clearly wasn't amused by the scene in front of him. "Don't think for a second that I won't recast any of you."

"It was all his idea!" Bokuto cocked his head towards Tendo. 

"Bokkun's a traitor." Tendo gasped. "I'll remember that."

That's when Kuroo forgot himself for a moment. He looked up at the sound booth, where he could just barely make out Kenma’s face. He looked almost angelic, illuminated by the soft light from his desk lamp. He had clearly found the situation funny, given the crooked grin on his face. 

The noise around him seemed to fade as he stared up at Kenma. When was the last time he had seen that smile? He had been purposefully avoiding eye contact up until now, knowing that he wouldn't be able to concentrate if he let himself get carried away with searching his face for some sign of Kenma's mental state. Kenma wasn't like Kuroo--while Kuroo had a support system to fall back on after their break up, Kenma wouldn't have been able to reach out to others as easily. If he had at all. 

Kenma must've sensed Kuroo's eyes boring into him. The cat-like man sucked in a breath and stared back, the smile not quite disappearing from his face. 

_ I'm okay, Kuro _ , the look seemed to say. 

Kuroo knew better. Even with the distance between them, he could see the renewed sharpness in his cheekbones and the hollowness in his eyes. Some strange part of him felt vindicated, the darker part of him that resented Kenma for leaving him in the first place. 

Kuroo had to force himself to look away before his heart shattered. 

///

"You only smoke when you're anxious."

"Not true. I also smoke socially." Suga waved his cigarette in front of Daichi's face playfully. 

The two of them sat on an unbalanced wooden bench in Smoker's Alley. There were other members of the cast scattered about, some getting their own nicotine fix, while others were there to chat or escape the heat from inside the theater. 

Daichi caught Suga's wrist in a strong hand and pushed it away from him, "It isn't considered social smoking if the person you're with doesn't smoke too." 

"You're the one who followed me, Daichi." Suga tried not to linger on the way Daichi's fingers easily circled all the way around his wrist. He rested his head against the concrete wall, the silver color of his hair complimenting the light purple paint on the building. 

"What, you don't like my company?" Daichi gave Suga one of his easy smiles. 

Suga didn't want to admit that he liked Daichi's company a little  _ too _ much.

"I absolutely hate it." Suga blew smoke above their heads and watched as it was immediately swept away with the wind. "Don't you have a Cosette to go sing to?"

"I have a feeling they'll be stuck on Fantine's death for a while longer." Daichi adjusted himself, shifting just enough so that his leg was against Suga's. 

_ It's like he knows.  _

"And what about you? Not going to duck away and practice for the thousandth time?" Daichi asked when Suga didn't respond. 

"My timing's still off." Suga flicked ashes off the sleeve of his jacket. Daichi wasn't too far off with his number. The role of the Priest was small, but demanding in its own way. "It's hard to count when you don't have a lot of music backing you."

"Says the guy with the most musical talent out of everyone." Daichi nudged him. "So that's what's got you stressed out then?"

_ Not in the least.  _

"Maybe a bit." Suga hoped the pink that appeared on his cheeks could be blamed on the chilly air. He tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind his ear. "How's playing opposite of Yui-chan?"

It was Daichi's turn to flush. "It's good. I was surprised she wanted to play Cosette. She didn't seem to be all that interested."

"You're such an idiot, Daichi." Suga smacked his arm. It was no secret that Ennoshita had asked Daichi to play the role of Marius months ago, back when the show was first announced. While there were certainly better options for Cosette floating around, no one was surprised when Yui decided to audition for that specific role. 

"What was that for?" Daichi jerked back in response. It annoyed Suga to no end. Daichi, a natural flirt, was completely oblivious when it came to other people coming onto him.

Not that Suga had been brave enough to actually try for himself. He saw it in the way Yui would make a point to wish him luck before every show, the way she would stand too close, and the way she would touch Daichi's arm ever-so-innocently when he made her laugh. And Daichi would just give that damn smile in return, completely unaware of what she was doing. 

It was maddening to watch. Daichi was the closest thing he had to a best friend, but that didn't keep Suga from being able to see just how much of a dumbass he could be. 

"You don't think you had anything to do with her decision?" Suga drew his knees up to his chest. He took a lazy drag and let his chin rest on his knees, no longer willing to watch Daichi's expressions in his peripherals. 

"Ah, surely not, Suga." Daichi scratched the back of his head. "You don't think she actually… Do you?"

The hopefulness in Daichi's voice was enough to shatter a man. 

"I think it's obvious to everyone  _ but  _ you." Suga swallowed down the lump in his throat. 

"Huh." Daichi sounded way too pleased, once again oblivious to the feelings of the person near him. "I'm going to blame you if she turns me down, you know."

Suga barely registered Daichi's words as he draped a muscled arm around Suga's thin shoulders. Suga allowed himself to lean into his side, letting the smell of Daichi's woodsy cologne wash over him. 

_ He's so warm.  _

Suga cleared his throat. "You can't blame me if you're the one who screws it up, Daichi."

He secretly hoped Daichi would. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They all need hugs. 
> 
> I worry about adding too many song lyrics--I really don't need any legalities falling on my head!
> 
> I started this thinking I knew Les Mis like the back of my hand and wound up having to do a ton of research. Ha. 
> 
> I promise promise we'll see more Bokuto soon. 
> 
> Question--would y'all prefer more frequent, shorter updates, or less frequent, longer updates?
> 
> Let me know your thoughts! And thank you all so so much for the support. ❤


	3. Yet Why did I Allow this Man/to Touch my Soul and Teach Me Love?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two months, three weeks until show time!

"They're both so pretty, Kuroo!" Bokuto moaned. He rubbed his cheeks in frustration, his large hands kneading color into his skin. His knees brushed against the glove box of Kuroo's car, their length almost too much to be contained in the small space. His head, as well as Kuroo's, nearly hit the roof of the car. Kuroo knew the two of them had to look comical to anyone who might see them trying to cram together into the compact. 

"Told you there would be pretty guys out in the country." Kuroo spared a glance at his distraught passenger. One of Kuroo's hands gripped the steering wheel, while the other played with the frayed denim of his ripped jeans. "Where do you think I got it?"

"Bro, why did you leave?" Bokuto attempted to stretch his legs, only succeeding in knocking his shins against the dashboard. He seemed to curl into himself a bit, his seat belt tightening with the effort. 

"Needed a change." Kuroo shrugged. It was an easy enough explanation--anyone who spent enough time in his small hometown would understand. There wasn't much there besides the theater, public schools, and family-owned businesses. Kuroo's parents ran one of the convenience stores in town, and while he appreciated the memories that came with growing up knowing everyone who came by, it wasn't the life he saw for himself. He'd moved to the city at the age of 25, just over a year ago now. He found a job as a call center agent that paid just enough for him to cover rent and other expenses while he studied part time in an online university. 

He met Bokuto at work. The two of them had been assigned cubicles next to each other. At first Kuroo found his obnoxiously loud voice to be irritating, but he eventually got to know him during their overlapping breaks. They both had dreams and ambition. Bokuto longed for the spotlight and had often performed at a comedy club before Kuroo talked him into auditioning for  _ Les Misérables _ . The demanding rehearsal schedule meant Bokuto would have to give up his normal performance slots for the time being. He and Kuroo commuted to rehearsals together, making the 45 minute drive pass by relatively quickly. 

Bokuto knew about Kenma. Just like Kuroo's move to the city had created a rift in his romantic relationship, the breakup had brought him closer in friendship with Bokuto. Sure, Kuroo knew plenty of people in the city, but they all knew Kenma personally as well. Bokuto had been a safe person to confide in, or rather, a safe person to drink with while he sorted out his feelings. 

Thankfully Bokuto had half a brain and refrained from mentioning the quiet pudding head that spent rehearsals hiding away in the sound booth. 

"If you think the costumers are pretty, just wait until you meet the hair and makeup guy." Kuroo shifted the conversation away from his move. 

"What's his name--wait. Don't tell me." Bokuto said with conviction. "I wanted to be awed when he introduces himself."

Kuroo barked out a laugh. Akaashi was quite the fascinating person, but he could already picture the quiet artist brushing Bokuto off without a thought. Kuroo was certain that Akaashi only tolerated him due to his soft spot for Kenma. 

"I'm surprised you didn't notice him last week." Kuroo stared out to the night sky in front of them. "He was in the booth."

"Ah, I don't really look up there. Tsukishima always looks like he's glaring at me." Bokuto ran a hand through his hair. "I kinda expected him to try to strangle me with his measuring tape."

The mental image of the skinny blonde trying to overpower the shorter but much stronger Bokuto was hilarious in its own way. "Don't lie to yourself, Bo, you'd be into it."

"Maybe? I dunno. He's got that whole unapproachable thing going on. Not really my style." Bokuto mused. "But he is fun to look at."

"Shoulda seen him in high school. He was way worse back then." He failed to mention that he and Tsukishima had been each other's firsts. It wasn't a big deal; there weren't that many gay teenagers in their school, and Kenma hadn't moved there until his final year. Sure, there was Oikawa and Sugawara, but Kuroo hadn't been  _ that  _ desperate for experimentation. Suga was great, but Oikawa? No thanks. "Guy was a total dick to like, everyone."

"Yeah, I could see it." Bokuto hummed. 

The two of them chatted aimlessly until Kuroo pulled into the parking lot of Bokuto's apartment. He lived on the outskirts of the city, sacrificing a short commute for a lower rent cost. Kuroo wished he would've considered that before he moved, but he enjoyed living in the heart of all the city's activity. Bokuto climbed out of the car with a quick goodbye, not looking back as he practically ran up the stairs to his flat. Kuroo waited a few minutes before he drove off, just to make sure he was able to get inside. It wouldn't be the first time that Bokuto forgot his keys. 

Kuroo didn't bother turning the radio on as he continued the drive to his own apartment, opting to roll down his windows and listen to the sounds of cars honking and the music that could faintly be heard coming from the various bars and restaurants he passed. The city breathed in a way that his hometown didn't. It made him feel alive in a way, where the sleepy small town made him feel suffocated. He thrived in the anonymity of being surrounded by strangers in tall buildings. 

Kenma would hate it here, and he would never leave his job at the theater. Kuroo knew that when he moved, but he stupidly believed that their bond wouldn't be swayed from the distance. And it did work for a while, until Kuroo got busier with classes and work. It no longer felt like they shared a life, rather, they were separate beings that occasionally brushed against each other when time allowed. 

Kuroo blamed his own selfishness. He shouldn't have listened when Kenma told him to move forward in becoming the person he wanted to be. He should've settled for a quiet life. Maybe if he had, Kenma would still be his. 

He eventually wound up at his apartment building, a rundown structure that seemed to mostly be inhabited by people around his age. The lower floors were dedicated to the two bedroom units, while the upper floors consisted of tiny studio apartments. Kuroo barely had room to move in his tiny unit, but it was his. 

He climbed the stairs two at a time until he reached the fifth floor. He noted that the dingy green paint was starting to chip around his doorknob as he turned his key. Not that he could ask the landlord to fix it, but maybe he could do it himself if he found a color match. His one room apartment was naturally cramped given its size, but Kuroo had done his best to maximize the tiny space. The kitchen area took up the wall next to the door, with white cabinets and slate gray counters that held his coffee maker and had enough room for simple food prep (if he was smart about it). His kitchen table also served as his desk where he kept his laptop and an ever-growing stack of textbooks. The back of his leather couch was pushed against the side of the table, situated to give him a good, yet close-up view of his TV from its perch on a black entertainment console. His bed was lofted, with the space beneath containing his wardrobe. The bathroom door was rather unfortunately placed next to the refrigerator. He hasn't gotten around to trying to decorate, not like there was much of a need to. Kenma didn't care about that sort of thing when he used to visit, and Bokuto rarely came over. 

It was just after 10 by the time Kuroo had gotten home. Kuroo knew he should spend a few hours studying for an upcoming chemistry exam, however his bed was practically screaming his name. Rehearsals took a lot out of him mentally--despite his extroverted nature, portraying a character on the level of Enjorlas had a way of draining him. 

He stretched out on top of his red and gray patterned bedspread, not bothering to rid himself of his hoodie or jeans. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment before he pulled out his phone and started scrolling through social media. It entertained him to see the differences in what his friends posted; Akaashi's posts were 90% makeup related, Tsukishima had a flair for posting philosophical questions and never responding to the comments, and Bokuto seemed to post every thought that came into his brain. Kuroo was a chronic selfie poster, only being rivaled by the likes of Oikawa, who had managed to snap a picture of himself giving a peace sign with Daichi and Suga eyeing each other in the background. 

While Kenma’s posts had disappeared from his timeline months ago, there were traces of his ex all over his feed. A random comment here or there, a glimpse of his bleached hair in the background of a photo, and the occasional "like" would appear on their mutual friends' posts. Kuroo nearly made himself sick with scouring for those small signs that Kenma was still existing outside of him. 

Kuroo's aimless scrolling eventually brought him to an advertisement of some new game release. It immediately made him think of Kenma (as if he wasn't already). It featured the cute, chibi-style characters that Kuroo knew his ex favored. 

He took a screenshot of the ad before he realized what he was doing. His first thought was to send it along to Kenma, just to show him that he was still ever-present in his thoughts. He toyed with the idea. It had been just over three months since they last texted, and even that had been a quick exchange about when Kuroo could pick up his things from Tsukishima's place. 

_ The worst he could do is ignore me. _

Kuroo knew it would kill him to be ignored, but he sent it along anyway. Just the picture, nothing more. He dropped his phone on his chest immediately after hitting the "send" button, afraid to stare at the screen any longer. 

He waited for what felt like several long minutes before he felt his phone vibrate through his shirt. His heartbeat quickened. He hadn't expected Kenma to respond that quickly, or at all really. He chewed on his bottom lip, eventually willing himself to pick his phone back up and read the notification. 

He exhaled loudly when he realized Kenma had responded with a picture of his own. It was blurry, but from what Kuroo could tell, Kenma had sent him a picture of the game's title on his Nintendo Switch screen. Like Kuroo, Kenma hadn't sent a message along with his picture. Still, it told Kuroo everything he needed to know. 

At least Kenma hadn't changed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick Kuroo update. 
> 
> Every pairing has their "arc". Right now we're hitting Kuroo/Kenma pretty hard, but others are yet to come!
> 
> Let me know your thoughts. <3


	4. Let the wine of friendship never run dry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two months, two weeks until show time!

There were few things that could pull Tsukishima out of bed on a Sunday morning like a series of texts from Akaashi:

_ I have wigs.  _

_ Be there in an hour.  _

_ Wake Kenma.  _

Fortunately Tsukishima had already been awake when Akaashi messaged him. He was snuggled deep into his pillow top mattress, cocooned beneath a deep purple comforter. Bedding and clothes were two things that Tsukishima spoiled himself with; he'd rather survive on instant noodles for weeks at a time than be uncomfortable. He held his phone close to his face, squinting to read and re-read Akaashi's messages. If anyone else had sent something like that, he'd tell them to fuck off until a more reasonable hour. Akaashi was the type to move on his own time when it came to his work, meaning everyone around him either had to keep up or get out of his way. 

Tsukishima lived in what used to be a three bedroom family home. When the original owner passed, their children decided to put in a dividing wall and turn the place into a two-story duplex. There had been other renovations of course, like creating a second kitchen and adding another front door. The layout was awkward--Tsukishima's kitchen was more or less part of his living room--but with the exception of the thin wall that separated his home from Kenma's, the house was comfortable and well-built. The two of them moved in at the same time. Kenma needed a neighbor that would leave him to his own devices, while Tsukishima was just looking for someone quiet. 

Kenma easily fit that bill, when he was alone anyway. It was selfish, but Tsukishima definitely didn't miss the nights when Kuroo would stay over. It was on one of those nights when Tsukishima learned that Kenma's headboard was directly against the wall that separated their bedrooms. 

Tsukishima no longer hangs anything on that particular space. 

He rolled out of bed, dragging his comforter along with him to avoid exposing his shirtless frame to the cold room. The blanket dragged on the floor behind him as he pressed his ear against the wall. If Kenma was awake, he'd know it--the gamer often spent weekend mornings curled up playing a console hours before getting out of bed. He rapped his knuckles against the wall a few times, only to be met with silence. 

He waits a few moments, then retrieves his phone and dials Kenma's number. He can faintly hear Kenma's phone trill to life, blasting the  _ Pokémon  _ battle music. Tsukishima let out a small snort. Is that what Kenma thought of all phone calls, or just his?

"What?" Kenma's voice, hoarse with sleep, came through the wall rather than the phone. "What time is it?"

_ Definitely just my calls then.  _

"9:30. Akaashi's on his way. He'll be over here in an hour." Tsukishima ended the call and tossed his phone back to the bed. "I'll make tea."

"Knock again in 30." Kenma clearly wasn't having it. "Please," he added after a beat. 

Tsukishima was used to this by now. Two years of living in a less-than-private arrangement had subjected him to many mornings of dealing with Kenma's strong distaste for mornings. While their relationship was mostly limited to work, Tsukishima was so in-tune with Kenma's routine that he could accurately guess what the other man was doing at any given time throughout the day. He knew it was mutual; Kenma had often brought Tsukishima coffee on days where he knew he had stayed up later than normal, and had given him knowing smiles whenever someone stayed the night. It wasn't an accident when they both happened to buy each other headphones for Christmas one year. 

What Kenma didn't know was that Tsukishima had listened to every word that passed between him and Kuroo on the night they broke up. And he would never know that Tsukishima spent several nights after pressing his ear to the wall, just making sure that Kenma eventually fell asleep after hours of tossing and turning. 

It wasn't that Tsukishima didn't  _ want _ to reach out. He just didn't know how. Even with all their similarities, emotional support was still uncharted territory between them. 

Thirty minutes would give Tsukishima plenty of time to get ready. He dropped his comforter and left the sanctuary of twinkle lights and bookshelves that occupied his bedroom, making his way down the narrow hallway to the bathroom. He had opted for this side of the duplex specifically for the bathroom; Kenma's was ensuite, meaning anyone who came over and needed it would have to venture through his bedroom. Tsukishima was  _ very  _ particular about letting anyone into his room. 

He went through the motions of getting ready for the day, his thoughts wandering to a certain freckled man as he shampooed his hair. Rehearsal wasn't until 1, giving him ample time to plan another 'accidental' early meeting between them. Maybe this time he could feign needing an opinion on which top hat to use for Thénardier, or perhaps he could show him the progress he'd made with some of the ensemble pieces. That would mean bringing him into the trailer, and if Asahi happened to be running behind…

Maybe the trailer was a bad idea. 

The coolness of his house was a welcome jolt back to reality once he stepped out of the shower. Tsukishima really, really needed to stop letting his mind get away with him when it came to Tadashi. 

He tied his towel around his waist, letting water drip from his hair and back down to the gray bath mat beneath him. He didn't bother wiping the condensation from the mirror while he brushed his teeth, knowing he wouldn't be able to see himself anyway without his glasses. Plus, it would leave streaks on the mirror. He grabbed a second towel from the cabinet beneath the sink and wrapped it around his head before leaving the bathroom. He grabbed his glasses from their spot on his nightstand and ventured into his closet. 

Deciding on an outfit was ritualistic for Tsukishima. He'd always been fascinated by fashion, thanks to his grandmother. He had inherited his position at the theater when she had been forced to retire, thanks to the arthritis in her hands. She had taught him everything he knew, starting from a young age. One of his earliest memories was when she caught him going through her closet, running his hands over the colorful fabric of the dresses she always wore. 

_ "Pick your favorite," _ she'd instructed him. He didn't know it had been a test of sorts at the time when he selected a deep-blue dress with sheer chiffon sleeves. He distinctly remembered being drawn to the white and gold sequined pattern along the neckline and the different textures of the fabric. That one had been a particular favorite, she said. The color reminded her of night. She told him that he had an eye, and slowly started introducing him to sewing and other needlework. Her lessons didn't end there, however. She taught him to stand up for himself whenever other kids made fun of his passion. While it had driven a wedge between him and his classmates, he wouldn't have traded her lessons for anything. 

His personal style had changed several times over the years. His early teenaged-self had preferred loud street wear, with too many layers and mismatched patterns. He toned it down bit by bit, until he'd reached his current style. These days it was all about finding the one piece that  _ made _ the look--a unique pocket square against a neutral suit, a wide-necked sweater that exposed the right amount of collarbone, or a patterned belt with a fitted pair of pants. These things were subtle, and even if no one else noticed them, he knew they were there. 

Today's choice came easy to him; he selected a pair of ankle-length charcoal chinos, a fitted cream v-neck, and a loose, earthy green knit cardigan. 

Green was becoming his favorite color these days after all. 

He pulled out a pair of colorful tribal patterned sneakers to put on later. He resumed getting ready, opting to let his hair air-dry. Akaashi always said it was better for his waves anyway. They had grown over his ears recently in his latest effort to attempt a longer style. 

Tsukishima, finally satisfied with his appearance, knocked on the wall once again. This time he was met with a quick "I'm up," followed by the sounds of shuffling as Kenma rolled out of bed. Satisfied, Tsukishima tucked his phone in his pocket and went downstairs to wait for Akaashi and Kenma to arrive. 

Tsukishima's living room comfortably cluttered. He had a wall dedicated to signed cast photos from each show he had worked on, starting all the way back with  _ The Crucible _ when he was in high school. He was beginning to run out of space to hang more, a problem that would be saved for future Tsukishima. His TV was mounted, and the console beneath was home to an ever-growing amount of succulents in varying containers. A few of them were gifts--namely, the cat-shaped one that Kuroo and Kenma had brought over one day. The walls were painted a jarring raspberry red color, leftover from the previous owner. Rather than paint over it, Tsukishima had decided to add to the eccentricity with a gold velvet couch with an attached ottoman and mahogany end tables. The floors were real hardwood, pretty to look at, but a bitch to clean properly. 

The kitchen area was right off the living room. Tsukishima wasn't much of a cook, meaning the usefulness of the ample counter space was lost on him. His most-used appliances were his electric tea kettle (used for both tea and instant ramen) and the fancy coffee maker Akiteru had gifted him. He flipped both of them on, knowing Kenma would prefer tea while he and Akaashi opted for coffee. 

He settled on the couch while he waited for the two of them to arrive and started scrolling through his social media feed. Akiteru had posted another dozen photos of Hoshi and Kosuke, making the pair appear much sweeter than what they were in reality. Tsukishima was slowly beginning to see the resemblance between Hoshi and himself. The girl was abnormally tall for her age and sported a pair of thick glasses. Tsukishima had little desire for kids of his own, so it was strange to see one that looked so similar. Kosuke, too, had somehow inherited the height from his father's family, but looked much more like his mother than his twin did. Genetics were strange. 

His phone buzzed as two messages came through, both from Kenma. 

_ I'm on my way.  _

_ Don't ask me why I sent that.  _

Tsukishima huffed out a small laugh, picturing Kenma's face as he realized what he'd sent. Once upon a time, Tsukishima had genuinely thought Kenma hated him, only to learn that he was just as shy and socially awkward as he was, if not more. Kenma was a true introvert. 

Tsukishima opened his front door before Kenma had the chance to knock. He openly stared at the man in front of him, taken off guard by his appearance. It was the most put together he'd seen Kenma look in months. His hair was pulled halfway back, and he'd put on just enough eyeliner to emphasize the shape of his eyes. His tan sweater, while two sizes too big, made him look almost delicate. Tsukishima was about to compliment him, until his gaze traveled downward. 

"It's way too cold to be wearing shorts, you know." Tsukishima tore his eyes away from Kenma's legs. His black shorts barely hit his mid-thigh, and were nearly completely covered by his sweater. 

"So then let me in." Kenma didn't wait for Tsukishima to move. He ducked underneath his arm and toed off his sneakers once inside. "The theater's hot."

"Uh huh." Tsukishima shut the door, not bothering to lock it. Kenma made a beeline to the couch, sitting with his back against one of the arms and his legs drawn up to his chest. Tsukishima made for the tea kettle. "Green tea?"

Kenma's eyes flashed. "Do you have any kocha?"

Tsukishima raised an eyebrow. He opened one of his cabinets and pulled out a tin of ground coffee while simultaneously running his eyes over his current tea selection. "That I do. Hope bagged is okay."

Kenma made a disinterested noise and turned his attention to his phone. Tsukishima found three mugs and poured hot water from the kettle in one, leaving the other two by the coffee maker. He dropped a tea bag in Kenma's mug, letting it steep while he started on the coffee. 

"Aren't you going to ask why Akaashi's coming this early?" Tsukishima asked, breaking the silence between them. 

"Why is Akaashi coming over this early?" Kenma's tone mimicked Tsukishima's perfectly. 

Tsukishima snorted. Kenma was almost  _ too _ easy going at times. "We wanted to time ourselves switching out the Fantine wigs to see if we could make the transition look realistic." Kenma scrunched his nose. "Don't worry, we won't fuck up your hair."

Kenma quickly averted his eyes to the floor. While he said little, much could be discerned from Kenma's quiet reactions. While Tsukishima wasn't extremely talkative himself, he often voiced what Kenma didn't while they worked together once he'd learned how to distinguish the subtle (and sometimes not so subtle) changes in his expressions. Understanding Kenma was an art, one that Tsukishima had yet to fully master. But he knew when to keep his mouth shut, even when he knew exactly what was on Kenma's mind. As much as he wanted to tease out the reason behind Kenma's attention to his appearance, he didn't want to risk making him withdraw further. 

"Sugar?" Tsukishima asked. When Kenma shook his head, Tsukishima carried Kenma's tea over to him, hesitating before handing it over. "You look good today, even if you're probably going to freeze."

Something akin to relief washed over Kenma's face. "Thanks." The corner of his mouth lifted into a small smile as he took the mug from Tsukishima. "For the tea, I mean."

Akaashi eventually arrived, coming to the door with a large cardboard box in tow. He took one look at Kenma and nearly dropped it where he stood before he quickly recovered. Tsukishima noted the reaction; Akaashi knew Kenma on a much more personal level than he did, and if he was surprised, it meant something had happened that neither of them knew about. 

Maybe Kenma was finally getting better. 

"Excuse the intrusion." Akaashi's eyes flitted away from Kenma, zoning in on the coffee maker. "You're too kind Tsukishima-san."

"Says no one but you." Tsukishima took the box from Akaashi and carried it over to the kitchen island. "Pour me one, if you don't mind." He opened the box to find the wigs Akaashi had selected, still in their packaging, along with two Styrofoam wig heads and wig caps. Akaashi had thrown a brush and a package of Bobby pins in as well. 

"Four sugars?" Akaashi busied himself with pouring coffee. When Tsukishima nodded, he added four sugar cubes from the small canister Tsukishima kept next to his machine to one of the mugs, and two to the other. He slid Tsukishima's mug over to him and leaned back against the counter, keeping a watchful eye as Tsukishima pulled the wigs from their packaging. 

"Good job on matching Hoshi's hair color." Tsukishima had opted to leave his niece's natural light brown hair on display, meaning Alisa's wigs would need to be at least somewhat similar. "Is Yui's the same?"

"Mhm. Hers will reach just past her shoulders." Akaashi sipped his coffee. 

Tsukishima nodded. He finger-combed the long wig in his hands, careful to not disturb the integrity of its shape. It would easily hit Alisa's waist, the length he had been looking for. He placed it on one of the wig heads before turning his attention to the shorter wig.

"That one's a little too clean. I plan to add some choppines to it, unless you say otherwise."

"It could use it." Tsukishima turned the pixie-short wig over in his hands. "Maybe cut the bangs uneven."

The two of them sipped coffee and debated a strategy while on how to best pull off the hair change onstage. Alisa was taller than the rest of the actresses, something they had to take into account when determining the positions. Then there was the matter of hiding the original wig--Tsukishima could add a bag to the Old Lady's getup. Kenma occasionally chimed in with suggestions, offering to adjust the lights so the focus would be on a different part of the stage. It was a casual reminder of just how intricately connected their jobs were when creating the overall visual of the production. 

Kenma was less than thrilled when Akaashi called him over to sit on one of the barstools. This wasn't the first time Kenma had been subjected to Tsukishima's and Akaashi's planning sessions. Tsukishima had some very interesting photos of Kenma in a unicorn outfit complete with a white wig and a posterior crafted from an exercise ball. While the children's  _ The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe _ hadn't been the theater's most profitable show, Tsukishima could now confidently say that he could pull off a one-person horse costume if needed. 

"Your ends are getting thin." Akaashi pulled the elastic from Kenma's hair and ran his fingers through the shoulder-length strands. Kenma seemed to relax beneath Akaashi's touch. He held his tea in his lap, his grip loosening enough to bring the color back to his knuckles. "I'll get you on my books for a trim, okay?" Kenma gave a small nod in response. 

Tsukishima stood back, observing as Akaashi pulled Kenma's hair into a small bun, letting it settle on his nape. Akaashi was methodical in everything he did, but Tsukishima knew he always treated Kenma with a certain gentleness. It was hard not to, given the way Kenma would get a far off look in his eyes whenever he was touched. He seemed to escape somewhere inside himself in times like these. Tsukishima couldn't discern as to why, but he couldn't complain at how docile of a model he could be. 

Tsukishima opened the timer on his phone while Akaashi secured the wig cap over Kenma's head. "The ladies will have about 15 seconds to make the change. Ennoshita said we could dedicate three of them to it if needed, but we'll need as many of them to block off the view of Fantine as we can."

"We'll have to save pinning it until she goes offstage again then." Akaashi frowned. He put the long wig on Kenma, adjusting it until it sat properly. Tsukishima resisted commenting on the surprisingly cute site of Kenma with long wavy hair, not wanting to tease him to the point of refusing to help. Akaashi pulled out the package of Bobby pins and tapped them against his open palm. "I wonder if we can get Fantine to pull the pins out sooner to make this easier."

"Let's try it both ways, see what happens." Tsukishima decided. He held his phone out to Kenma. "Mind timing?" 

Kenma's mouth settled into a thin line. He traded his mug for Tsukishima's phone, his finger hovering over the stopwatch. He stayed remarkably still as Tsukishima and Akaashi timed themselves switching the two wigs out. The first few attempts were unsuccessful, clocking in at just under a minute each. This led them to decide on having Alisa remove her Bobby pins discreetly before the song began. While this cut down the time a bit, it still took them several tries to meet the threshold, they eventually got it down to less than 20 seconds. 

"This would be so much easier if Alisa would just cut her hair." Tsukishima rubbed his forehead. "Think you could convince her, Akaashi?"

"I refuse," came Akaashi's blunt reply. 

"We'll show them how to do it next time we run through Act One." Tsukishima resigned. "This is going to be  _ fun _ ."

"You got a text from Yamaguchi." Kenma held Tsukishima's phone out to him. "I didn't want to interrupt."

"What?" Tsukishima mentally slapped himself at the enthusiastic reaction. He took his phone a little too quickly and tapped through to his messages. Sure enough, the subject of so many of his thoughts had sent him a simple message:  _ Looking forward to seeing you. _

"So I take it  _ that's  _ going well." Akaashi, never one to miss anything, smirked. He started working on Kenma's hair, removing the wig cap and working his hands through his locks, bringing them back to life from being flattened from the wigs. 

"You know my rule." Tsukishima stared down at the message, trying to figure out the best way to respond. Yamaguchi had texted him before, but never in such a forward manner. Had Tsukishima been too flirty during their last interaction?

"It's a stupid rule." Kenma murmured. 

"Is it?" Tsukishima met Kenma's eyes. "Coming from you, that's a little--"

"Tsukishima-san." Akaashi warned. 

Tsukishima bit his tongue, acutely aware that he'd just crossed a line. 

"It's okay." Kenma laced his fingers together in his lap. He stared down at them for a moment before looking up again. "I don't think you should deny yourself just because you're afraid of the potential fallout."

"I'm not--" Tsukishima exhaled. He didn't want to admit that Kenma had seen right through him. He knew all too well that he was with the most observant people he'd ever met, himself included. "Fine. You're right."

Kenma blinked slowly. "Can I have some more tea?"

"Sure." Tsukishima pondered over his phone for a second longer, finally sending Yamaguchi a quick  _ You too _ . He pocketed his phone and took Kenma's mug back over to the kettle. 

Kenma, despite his guarded nature, wasn't immune to the unexplainable magic that came when someone was altering his appearance. He opened his mouth to speak again as Akaashi worked on restyling his hair, adding a small braid on one side. 

"Kuro texted me last night." 

Tsukishima glanced back at Akaashi, who was looking back at him with an unreadable expression. Tsukishima turned back to making Kenma's tea, mentally willing Akaashi to handle this one. 

"How did that go?" Akaashi asked. 

Tsukishima could hear the smile in Kenma's voice. "It was just an advertisement for a game that I had already bought."

"He was thinking about you." Akaashi's tone was even, not hinting towards any feelings he might have had about the situation. 

"I guess he was."

Suddenly Kenma's attire didn't seem too out of the ordinary. Tsukishima kept his back turned, hiding the smirk of realization that grew over his face. 

Kuroo had always been a leg man.    
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these three together. Don't ask me why. 
> 
> Next chapter is a Suga chapter!
> 
> Following that, we'll finally see Akaashi and Bokuto officially meeting each other. ;)
> 
> Let me know your thoughts! Your comments and kudos mean so much to me, y'all have no idea.


	5. Don't you fret, Monsieur Marius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two months, two weeks until showtime!
> 
> Songs referenced:  
> Empty Chairs at Empty Tables  
> Bring Him Home
> 
> And What is this Feeling? from Wicked.

There were two things that Suga loved above all else in this life: teaching and music. Which was why he volunteered himself to the theater to assist with actors working on their solos (and sometimes duets), while only occasionally participating onstage himself. He lived for the moments when his students finally hit their higher notes, or mastered a piece of music they didn't think possible. Feeling their pride in themselves made the long hours of practice and repetition worth it. 

Suga normally preferred to hide behind the scenes, only emerging every so often to take on small roles or play piano at graduations. It wasn't out of shyness or lack of self-confidence, he simply held to the belief that his students were the ultimate showcase of what he was capable of producing. 

Jumping in to work on Les Misérables had been a no-brainer for him--he had a long-standing love for the musical that started when he first watched it in college. It was one of the few productions that made him want to step onstage and be a part of the magic.

Even when the magic involved witnessing who he thought could be the love of his life fall for someone else. 

Suga and Daichi were working in the theater lobby, surrounded by photos of past productions and advertisements from local businesses. While the lobby wasn't the ideal place to practice, it had a baby grand piano and enough space for Daichi to move around freely as he sang. The blinds on the full-length windows were drawn, exposing them to the quiet street outside. Suga sat at the piano, his back to the keys while Daichi rehearsed, accompanied by a CD player resting on the wooden ticket booth. 

"I'm missing something." Daichi stopped the CD player, not bothering to finish the second half of  _ Empty Chairs at Empty Tables _ . He ran a hand through his short hair in exasperation. 

"I didn't say anything." Suga crossed his slender legs. 

"No, but you had that look on your face." 

"What look?"

"You know, the one where you kind of remind me of Takeda-sensei when we'd get caught goofing off in his class." Daichi sat down next to Suga on the piano bench. 

"What can I say? I learned most of my teaching strategies from him." Suga let out a hollow laugh. "Do you want me to tell you what I think you're missing, or can you figure it out yourself?"

"I don't get it, Suga. I'm breathing when I need to, I'm picking up the volume in the right places…" Daichi's voice trailed off. He draped his arm over the keylid, settling against Suga's side. "Teach me, dear wise one."

"I'm definitely not wise, Daichi." Suga peaked at him through his eyelashes and tried to keep his heart from beating too rapidly at the close proximity. He and Daichi had always been affectionate towards each other, something like this shouldn't affect him so much. "Your technique is fine. You're hitting the right pitches, your pacing is good--"

"But there's something else, isn't there?" Daichi frowned. "I don't get why  _ Empty Chairs _ is so hard for me."

"You're focusing on the delivery, not the emotion." Suga folded his hands in his lap. "What are you thinking about when you sing it?"

Daichi ducked his head. "Not disappointing you."

"Daichi! You can't say things like that." Suga flushed. 

"It's true. You went out of your way to get me to develop my vocal talent." Daichi gazed at him affectionately. 

"I just got tired of watching you pretend to be a jock." Suga stared down at the floor. "Remember when we'd go to karaoke after class, and you'd refuse to sing in front of other people?"

"It was different back then." Daichi shrugged. 

"But when we were alone--"

"--that was entirely your fault." 

"How was it my fault?!" Suga gaped at him. 

"I've always been able to be myself around you." Daichi gave him a warm smile. "God, I was such a stereotype in high school. High achieving student athlete with a secret love for singing."

"Pretty sure there was a movie or two about that." Suga wiggled his eyebrows. 

"And had we not gone off to college together, I wouldn't have been subjected to you using me as your guinea pig for vocal coaching." Daichi ruffled the back of Suga's hair. "So that's why, Suga. I feel like I owe this performance to you."

"You're ridiculous." Suga picked at the fabric of his trousers. 

"Maybe." Daichi sighed. 

Suga swallowed, already dreading the response to his next question. "So what do you think when you're singing the rest of Marius's songs? Why are those easier?"

"Yui-chan." Daichi said, far too quickly for Suga's liking. "It's easy to play off her, and well, you know."

_ It's easy to sing about love when you have a crush on the person you're singing to.  _

"And  _ Little Fall of Rain _ is just so in the moment. It helps that Akane-chan is so good at playing Éponine." Daichi continued. He dropped his arm from the key cover and rested his elbows on his knees. 

"But the emotions are similar between that one and  _ Empty Chairs _ , right? Marius is experiencing loss, and I'm sure deep down he's wondering if the rebellion was worth it." Suga chewed on his bottom lip. "Rather than trying to impress me, why not focus on that? Let yourself picture what it would be like to lose all your friends. Imagine feeling the guilt of being the only one to survive the attack. You get to continue living your life, while they don't."

"It's just so hard to get into that headspace." Daichi rubbed the stubble on his jaw. 

"You could always just picture me dead." Suga offered dryly. 

"Don't even suggest that!" Daichi's eyes widened. 

"Hey, if it works." Suga nudged him. "Try it again, and this time don't think about impressing me or stressing your technique. Just let yourself feel it."

Daichi nodded and stood up. Suga could sense the nerves rolling off him as he restarted the track on the CD player. It always amused Suga to see someone like Daichi get anxious. Daichi always portrayed himself as a strong, steadfast person, but deep down he could be just as vulnerable as the next guy. Suga fell for Daichi because of those brief moments of vulnerability that came when the two of them were alone. Suga wondered if Daichi would be able to show Yui that same level of trust, if he would open up to her about his fears, and if she would still accept him. 

It was stupid for Suga to wish that he would be the only one who could ever be close to Daichi in that way. It was selfish of him to think otherwise. 

Suga let himself get lost in Daichi's rich voice. He barely noticed when Oikawa slipped in from one of the doors that led to the auditorium. Instead, he focused on the somewhat forced emotion Daichi was attempting to convey through the song. Suga knew Daichi was trying to get there mentally, while at the same time he knew Daichi had never truly experienced loss. No matter how good of an actor you were, not having some sort of personal experience to draw from made things difficult. 

But Daichi would get there. Suga was confident. 

"Brava, Dai-chan." Oikawa slow clapped as the song ended. He sauntered over to the CD player and turned it off, giving his fellow actor a characteristic smirk. "I see your little sessions with Sugawara-sensei are helping."

"Please don't call me that outside of school." Suga wrinkled his nose. He and Oikawa were both teachers at the local middle school; Suga taught music, while Oikawa taught drama. 

"I think it fits you." Daichi chuckled. "Was that any better?"

"We'll work on it more." Suga promised. "But you are improving."

"Speaking of improvement, Ennoshita wants you out front to run through  _ Red and Black _ again while the rest of them are still around." Oikawa sauntered over to the piano and plopped down next to Suga. "Besides, it's my turn to show off to Sugawara-sensei."

"Seriously, stop it." Suga rubbed his eyes. 

"Good luck, Suga's a real critic today." Daichi winked. He left the pair with a small wave, disappearing into the auditorium. 

Suga watched him go, ignoring the way that Oikawa was staring him down. "Are you really here to get my opinion or are you up to something?"

"You know I value your opinion, Suga-chan." Oikawa sat uncomfortably close to him. Suga's thin sweater did little to shield him from the way that Oikawa's arm brushed against his own. "But I also want to see how you're handling things."

"What, exactly, am I handling?" Suga asked warily. 

"I saw our Marius and Cosette getting awfully close at Tanaka's restaurant a couple of days ago." Oikawa taunted. 

"That has nothing to do with me." Suga averted his eyes. He wasn't surprised that Oikawa had figured out his feelings for Daichi. While he never explicitly told him, they spent enough time together between work and the theater for him to notice something was going on. 

"Oh come on, you're so obvious." Oikawa laughed. When Suga didn't react, his tone shifted to something more serious. "You act as if you're the only one to fall in love with a straight guy."

"You say that like you've been there." Suga raised an eyebrow. "Iwaizumi?

Oikawa hummed, confirming Suga's suspicions. Oikawa and Iwaizumi had always been close, similar to how Suga and Daichi were. "It's hard watching them date, isn't it? The entire time you're thinking of all the ways you could treat them better, or how you already know all their stupid habits and things like the way they prefer eating fried tofu without broth."

"Wait, he just eats it plain?" Suga stifled a laugh. 

"Yeah, he says the texture is better that way." Oikawa shook his head. "Have you told him?"

"What good would that do?" Suga furrowed his brow. "It'll be better for both of us if I just keep it to myself."

"You're lucky I'm so good at keeping secrets, Suga-chan." Oikawa leaned close to Suga's face. "Or else I would be tempted to tell him myself."

"Do it and I'll make sure you never set foot on stage again." Suga held Oikawa's gaze. 

"You know just how to threaten me." Oikawa tapped Suga's nose playfully. "Now, can I serenade you?"

Suga snorted. "Can you play your own music, or do I need to hit the button for you?"

"I'd much rather you accompany me." Oikawa swung his legs over the bench and lifted the key cover, revealing the black and ivory piano keys. "If you don't mind."

"What am I playing?" Suga turned around and stretched his fingers. He ran them over the keys, playing through a quick scale that echoed through the lobby. 

" _ Bring Him Home _ ." Oikawa straightened his posture. 

Suga nodded. Oikawa often asked him to play his songs on the piano rather than practicing with the recorded music, saying that the authenticity of live music inspired him more. 

While Oikawa shone onstage, there was something to be said about how incredible he sounded in a stripped-down setting. He didn't need to put on a show to convey the pleading emotion of the song, rather, his tone and vocal inflection provided everything the listener needed to be fully absorbed into the song's meaning. Suga spared a sideways glance at him to find his eyes had fallen shut while he belted out the lyrics. 

Suga allowed himself to get lost in his playing and Oikawa's voice. He didn't fight against the tightening in his chest as he listened to the words, rather, he let the feeling overtake him until tears formed in his eyes. He blinked rapidly, trying not to let them blur his vision to the point where he could no longer see the keys. He stopped playing all together once Oikawa reached the final lines of the song, deciding that the high notes were better showcased a cappella. Oikawa was able to hit them seemingly effortlessly, making the vocal trill seem far easier than what it was in reality. 

Suga rested his fingers on the keys, letting the silence fall over them. He knew he should be telling Oikawa how he did, or find some way to offer tips for improvement. Truth be told, he could find anything to point out. 

Oikawa reached over and brushed a stray tear from Suga's cheek. Suga was ready to be teased for the display of emotion, but instead Oikawa wrapped an arm around him, drawing him close. Suga let his head fall on Oikawa's shoulder, finding a strange sense of comfort in the musky smell of his cologne. 

"That's how I deal with the heartbreak, Suga-chan." Oikawa said quietly. "I channel it into something that I hope turns out beautiful."

_ You're beautiful.  _

_ What am I thinking? _

This was Oikawa, after all. Suga was just feeling vulnerable in his loneliness. 

"Do you want me to play another?" Suga raised his head. 

"If you'll sing with me this time." Oikawa didn't release his hold. "Your choice."

"If you insist." Suga licked his lips and adjusted his posture. He shot Oikawa a mischievous look and started playing a piano cover of  _ What is this Feeling _ from  _ Wicked _ . It took Oikawa a few moments to catch on to what Suga was playing, but by the time he did, Suga was already starting on Glinda's lyrics. " _ What is this feeling, so sudden and new _ ?"

"Suga-chan!" Oikawa grabbed Suga's wrists. 

"Something wrong?" Suga asked innocently. 

"Start it over." Oikawa brushed his hair out of his eyes and continued. 

"We both know that I should be playing Glinda."

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no idea how to close out that chapter so here we go!
> 
> So sorry I didn't do a midweek update. I gave myself two weeks to study for an AWS certification so I was busy doing that this week (I wound up passing, yay!).
> 
> Bokuto and Akaashi meet in the next chapter. Y'all. I'm hyped. 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts! And thank you guys for all the support on this. ❤


	6. Do I Dream? / I'm Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two months, one week until show time!
> 
> CW:   
> Minor injury, and blood from said injury

Bokuto was running late. 

Nothing out of the ordinary, except this time he couldn't blame Kuroo's weirdly cautious driving. Bokuto had once called him out on it, and Kuroo had said something about being used to nervous passengers. Bokuto hadn't asked him to elaborate on that particular tidbit of his life; nearly all of Kuroo's habits could be traced back to a certain shy technical director. Once Bokuto had figured that out, he stopped asking. He hated the way his friend's face would get all wistful whenever Kenma came up. Sure, he didn't mind listening to Kuroo whenever he needed to talk--the problem was within himself. Bokuto lived in constant fear of saying the wrong thing in those situations. His mouth tended to move much quicker than his brain. 

But that was beside the point. 

Bokuto cursed the small town's slow speed limits as he hit yet  _ another  _ red light. He cursed Kuroo for needing to drive separately to rehearsal (no, Bo, this isn't Kuroo's fault). He mentally ran through a list of excuses. He could always blame traffic. Or a call running long. Anything to spare him from The Wrath of Ennoshita™. 

He'd never admit that the REAL reason involved an ill-timed nap after he'd left work an hour early in an effort to make sure he'd get to practice on time without Kuroo's help. 

_ Dammit, Bo.  _

He knew better than to try and risk napping. 

He was at least somewhat thankful to be in his own car for the 45 minute drive. While Kuroo's compact was better on gas, his Jeep had WAY more leg room. And the potential for removing the doors, which in Bokuto's mind was stupid cool. 

The theater parking lot was full by the time he arrived (because of course it was), leaving him to park at the bank across the street. Fortunately Wakatoshi's family owned said bank, making it a safe space for the theater crowd to park after hours. He took note of a rather stylish red sports car, wondering if it belonged to the intimidating young banker. 

_ Nah, guy that big wouldn't fit in that.  _

Bokuto threw his Jeep in park and started sprinting over to the theater, only to have to turn back to actually turn the thing off and retrieve his keys. He wished he could say that was the first time he'd done that, but…

Keys in hand and a solid fifteen minutes late, he ran back to the theater, opting to use the backstage entrance. He darted through Smoker's Alley, praying that someone had left the door unlocked. 

Bokuto's sole focus was on reaching the door. If he were paying attention, he might've been able to catch the door with his hand instead of his face as it suddenly swung open the moment he got in front of it. He saw stars as the heavy black surface collided against him, smacking him straight in the nose with a surprising amount of force. He involuntarily swore and cupped his hand over his face, already feeling the pain spread over his cheeks. 

"Are you okay?" A soft, strangely calm voice cut through the ringing in his ears. He heard a small gasp before he spoke again. "You look hurt. I'm--"

And that's when it happened. 

That's when Bokuto's eyes focused enough to finally see the person who had opened the door in his face. Bokuto had always heard of these moments, the ones where your stomach rises to your chest and threatens to cut off your breathing. The moment where you find yourself staring at what could only be described as beauty incarnate. 

Perfection came in the form of a dark-haired man holding a door open with a worried expression in his gunmetal eyes. 

The pain in Bokuto's face was temporarily forgotten. He was far too busy taking in the vision in front of him, everything from the way his hair was intentionally messy, to the way his tan bomber jacket hugged against his frame, and the way his cheekbones seemed to be impossibly high. 

"You're bleeding." 

Bokuto could barely react. He stared wide-eyed at the man, suddenly regretting his decision to show up to rehearsal in a tracksuit. 

"Are you dizzy? Come on." He wrapped a well-manicured hand around Bokuto's wrist and pulled him inside the theater. He guided him to sit down on one of the folding chairs and pulled a nearby trash can over. He positioned it between his knees. "Pinch your nose and lean over that. Tsukishima-san will kill us both if we get blood everywhere."

Bokuto managed to pull his hand away from his nose, finally registering that yes, he was in fact bleeding. It had been enough to seep through the cracks between his fingers and cover his palm in deep crimson. The sight turned his stomach and caused him to let out a small gasp. 

"I'll be right back." The man turned on his heel, leaving him with another reminder to "pinch it" as he walked away. 

Bokuto did as he was told. He leaned forward over the trash can and pinched his nose, grunting at the throbbing sensation that had begun to settle in. He knew he should be more concerned about the possibility of a broken nose, but all he could think about was the mortifying fact that the most beautiful person he'd ever met had seen him like this. It had rendered him speechless, something that NEVER happened to Bokuto. Even in the worst situations he could always find something to say, but he could barely form a coherent thought. 

"Everyone's out front. I texted Tsukishima-san, he'll take care of letting the director know." Bokuto convinced himself that he could listen to anything, so long as it was that voice saying it. A handful of tissues was pressed into Bokuto's free hand. 

"What's your name?" Bokuto slurred, his speech coming out nasally. He swallowed and tasted the distinct taste of iron. 

"Akaashi Keiji. Lovely to meet you." He squatted down beside Bokuto, peering up at him. "Though I'm not sure you can say the same."

"I can definitely say the same." Bokuto grinned behind the tissues he had pressed to his nose. "I'm Bokuto Koutarou. You must be the makeup guy, huh?"

"Mhm. And you're Grantaire."

"Only if you're my Enjorlas." Bokuto mentally slapped himself. 

"Oya? Why would I be your Enjorlas?" Akaashi cocked his head. 

"Because, you know, Grantaire has a crush on Enjorlas. I mean, it's implied in the book anyway, not that I've read it. But that's what the character sheet said, so I've been kinda playing it that way." Bokuto winced, having squeezed his nostrils a bit too tight in his excitement. 

"How about we save this conversation for when you're not bleeding everywhere?" Akaashi's lips twitched. "I'm sorry for hurting you, Bokuto-san."

"You don't have to apologize, 'Kaashi. Do you gotta go out front or anything?" 

"I'm not needed right now." Akaashi said dismissively. "You'll need ice once the bleeding stops, and something tells me you're going to complain about having to keep it on."

Bokuto sputtered. "You don't have to babysit me!"

"Don't I though?" Akaashi reached up and brushed Bokuto's wildly gelled hair away from his forehead. It was an innocent, simple gesture that sent shivers down Bokuto's spine. 

When he'd told Kuroo that he wanted to be awed when he met the mysterious makeup artist, he hadn't been expecting this. Awed couldn't even begin to describe what he was feeling. 

Bokuto took a risk. "Stay with me then, Akaashi?"

"I'm staying." Akaashi's expression was flat, but there was warmth swimming in his eyes. Bokuto found himself getting lost within their depths. A wave of calm settled over him, combined with a strange sense of familiarity. It was as though he'd known Akaashi for years, not minutes. 

Bokuto was still, peaceful. It was the feeling he had when he was alone in his apartment, surrounded by his dirty laundry and issues of Jump!. The feeling of  _ home _ .

He didn't have the mental capacity to knock sense into himself. He believed in love at first sight, sure. Even if that wasn't what was happening here, he had already decided that he would do anything if it meant spending more time with Akaashi. 

Even at the expense of his face, apparently. 

Bokuto wasn't sure how long they stayed quietly observing each other. The spell was broken by a pissed off Tsukishima throwing the backstage door open, followed by Yamaguchi. The green haired man held a first-aid kit against his chest, his eyes wide with worry. 

"You know, Akaashi, there's a difference between hitting on someone and actually hitting them." Tsukishima leaned against the wall, keeping a safe distance away from Bokuto. 

"You worked hard on that one, didn't you?" Akaashi scoffed. Bokuto grinned, giddy to realize that Akaashi was the type of person who could keep up with Tsukishima. 

"Um, is it okay if I take a look, Bokuto-kun? I see a lot of broken noses." Yamaguchi crouched down on the other side of Bokuto and pulled out a pair of gloves from the first aid kit. "School nurse," he explained as he snapped a glove over his hand. 

"Are ya any good?" Bokuto wiggled his eyebrows. He dropped his hand from his face, resisting the urge to sniff. He didn't know much about nosebleeds, but he could only assume he didn't want to snort his own blood back into his brain. 

"I guess? I haven't been fired yet." Yamaguchi said sheepishly. He peered up at Bokuto. "It doesn't look broken. I'm going to touch it, okay?"

Bokuto nodded and leaned forward. Yamaguchi had always struck Bokuto as a bit of an anxious mess, however that disappeared as he delicately applied pressure to Bokuto's nose and cheekbones, taking note of his reactions or any tenderness he reported. He was completely absorbed in his work, until he happened to glance behind him long enough to catch the expression on Tsukishima's face. 

"Tsukki, can you bring some ice? And maybe a bottle of water." Yamaguchi's voice softened when he addressed the blonde. Tsukishima made a disgruntled noise in response before disappearing through the door. 

"I don't think Tsukki likes seeing blood." Yamaguchi chuckled to himself. He opened an antiseptic wipe and used it to clean up the blood around Bokuto's nostrils. He stopped himself suddenly, as if he had been moving on autopilot. "Sorry. I should've let you do this."

"Nah, it's okay." Bokuto smiled reassuringly. "I'm sure you're used to working with little guys."

"Can't trust the elementary crowd to do it." Yamaguchi nodded and tossed his gloves into the trash can once he was finished. "You're probably going to swell up a bit. If your nose looks crooked or anything after it goes down, you'll want to get to a doctor."

Akaashi exhaled in relief. "Does he get a sticker for good behavior?" 

"Or a popsicle?" Bokuto chimed in. 

Yamaguchi startled. "Um, I can give you these." He held up a packet of pain relievers. "And instructions to ice it. 15 on, 15 off."

"Can you write him an excuse to get out of practice?" It took Bokuto a moment to realize that Akaashi was trying to tease the poor nurse. 

"Hey, I can still get out there!" Bokuto protested.

"You sound like you have a cold." Akaashi stood up, looming over Bokuto. "I think you should get some rest."

"He's right. Just because it's not broken doesn't mean it isn't going to hurt." Yamaguchi gathered up the first aid kit. "I'm going to see what's keeping Tsukki. I'll tell Ennoshita-san that you're going home."

"Can he drive?" Akaashi asked. 

"He should be--" Yamaguchi stopped when he saw the way Akaashi's eyes were pointedly boring into him. He glanced between the two men, a smile forming on his freckled face. "It might be a good idea if you drove him back." He left the two of them with a knowing wink. 

Bokuto's face flushed. "Akaashi, you don't gotta--"

"You heard him." Akaashi bent at the waist, bringing his face level with Bokuto's. "I'll buy you that popsicle."

"How about dinner?" Bokuto blurted out. "I'd like to get to know you, Akaashi-kun."

Akaashi's lips curved just enough to hint at a smile. "Dinner, then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, yes, I just combined a love at first sight trope with a nosebleed trope and I have no regrets. 
> 
> I told y'all there would be so many Les Mis references!
> 
> Bokuto is a hard character for me to write, so this is a bit of a challenge for me. 
> 
> Also, no Bo, the blood doesn't go to your brain, it'll drain to your throat. 😂
> 
> Let me know your thoughts! I love hearing from you guys! 
> 
> Next chapter will probably be Kuroo/Kenma focused. I haven't QUITE decided.


End file.
